


Crazy Little Thing Called Love

by itssupergay



Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-14
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-02-14 19:51:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13014951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itssupergay/pseuds/itssupergay
Summary: Set post-PP2, ignores any canon of PP3. The Bellas are trying to plan their five-year reunion, but no one has heard from Beca in three years.





	1. Chapter 1

Chloe waits for her sluggish Internet to connect so she can join the Bellas Reunion chat.

 

She’s more excited about it than she probably should be, considering she speaks to most of the girls by phone or text on at least a semi-regular basis. Still, they haven’t all been together in one place since Worlds five years ago. Meeting up again, and at Barden, no less, would be the best blast from the aca-past, as far as Chloe’s concerned.

 

Finally, the webpage loads and the chat window appears at the center of her screen. In a smaller window on the right side of the page, several names are listed in alphabetical order, indicating to her that most of the group has already signed in. Chloe does a little shimmy in her desk chair, unable to contain her excitement.

 

A volley of greetings appears in the chat window to welcome her. After another few minutes of idle chatter, a tenth name pops up in the user list and Chloe contributes her hellos to Stacie, the last to join.

 

For a moment, Chloe withdraws her hands from the keyboard, staring at the list of names and feeling a pang in her heart for the one that’s missing.

 

She and Beca had kept in steady contact for two years after going their separate ways post-graduation. Chloe had returned to her parents’ home in Florida for a while to ponder her options. Still unsure what to do with her life, she’d spent a month working with Aubrey at the Lodge of Fallen Leaves, performing various tasks around the camp and waiting to see if anything sparked her interest. It hadn’t been until Aubrey enlisted her help at the new childcare center for single-parent Lodge visitors that Chloe had gotten her first taste of early childhood education, and from there her decision had been made.

 

She had earned her Master’s in Education and her Florida teaching certification in a third of the time it took to complete her undergraduate degree. But it had been somewhere in her last year of graduate school that communication on Beca’s end began to dwindle.

 

Beca had stayed on with Residual Heat in Georgia for seven months, working her way up from retrieving coffee and lunches to an actual production internship, before she got the chance to transfer to their sister studio in LA, Exothermic Records.

 

The few Bellas still within reasonable driving distance – Chloe, Aubrey, and Emily – had thrown Beca a small farewell celebration, and that was the last time Chloe had seen Beca in person. They’d kept in touch via text and Skype for another year and a half, though less so as they’d become busier and busier. But Beca’s sudden radio silence barely two years after Worlds had come as a shock to Chloe, who had feared the worst after the first two weeks of no contact.

 

Still with her penchant for drama, she’d checked LA obituaries first, and cried in relief when she found nothing. Thinking she might have angered Beca somehow, Chloe had then contacted every other Bella, none of whom had heard from her in weeks, either. Mr. Mitchell had been shut out, too, and after their post-Worlds breakup and his move to New York, Chloe didn’t expect Jesse to be of much help. The recording studio wouldn’t give out information about employees, and short of flying out to LA and tracking Beca down herself, Chloe had run out of options a month into Beca’s silence. She’d realized a week prior that she’d never gotten Beca’s LA address from her, anyway.

 

Chloe would be lying if she said it hadn’t hurt, and still does, three years later. She might not ever know what caused one of her favorite people to stop talking to everyone she loves, but thoughts of the reunion have only dragged those feelings of confusion and heartbreak back with a vengeance.

 

Trying to clear her mind of all that, Chloe slides her desk chair forward and returns her focus to the chat room.

 

Apparently she’d been lost in thought for longer than she realized, as a flood of messages detailing everyone’s latest escapades fills the window, and she has to scroll back through the feed to catch herself up. Aubrey and Emily had noticed her absence from the conversation, it seems. In between CR’s description of the new condo she and her wife bought and Fat Amy’s unbelievable tale of naked kangaroo wrestling with Bumper, there are two messages prompting her response.

 

Figuring she should say something, Chloe types in the first thing that comes to mind.

 

‘ ** _has anyone heard from Beca???_** ’

 

Well, Aubrey did often accuse her that first year of having a one-track mind when it came to ‘that alt girl.’

 

The feed had been moving fast with every little comment thrown in by nine different women with a lot of catching up to do, but it comes to an abrupt halt the second Chloe sends her message. Just to be sure, Chloe checks that her Internet hasn’t frozen again, but it appears she has simply rendered everyone speechless with that mood-dampening reminder that someone is missing.

 

After a long minute, she gets nine variations of ‘No’ all at once.

 

Chloe replies with the single tear emoji, and then, shortly after, ‘ ** _is it stupid that i’m still worried about her after all this time??_** ’

 

Aubrey’s response comes in first. ‘ ** _Of course not, Chlo! That’s just the kind of person you are. You care so much._** ’

 

The words remind Chloe just how grateful she is to have Aubrey as her friend. Where others might say – and have – that Chloe cares ‘too much,’ Aubrey finds a way to frame it as a positive. Even if she can’t have Beca in her life anymore, Chloe is glad she still has Aubrey Posen.

 

Jessica, Ashley, and Emily echo the sentiment, further reassuring her. Amy says something about lost dingoes always finding their way back to the pack, amongst a lot of Australian slang Chloe doesn’t understand but Flo seems to agree with, and Lilly posts an equally incomprehensible string of obscure emojis. Stacie’s response, while containing unnecessary sexual undertones, is sweet and hopeful that they’ll see Beca again someday, and is seconded by Cynthia Rose.

 

Their unfailing support warms Chloe’s aching heart. She can always count on her Bellas to be her port in a storm. Sniffing, she leans forward to type.

 

‘ ** _thanks girls. so shall we get to planning this aca-reunion or what?!_** ’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short first chapter and nothing really on the actual reunion or Beca yet, I know, but bear with me. We'll get to her side of things soon enough. I concocted this idea before I knew about Pitch Perfect 3 and haven't seen it yet so I've just decided to go AU from the end of Pitch Perfect 2. Although after I watch the new movie I might throw in some canon elements here and there if I see fit.


	2. Chapter 2

Chloe folds the last of her clothing into the suitcase and steps back to survey her handiwork. Deciding that her attempt to cram a week’s worth of clothes and shoes in one carry on-sized suitcase had been a rousing success, she heads off to the kitchen to reward herself with ice cream before bed. She has an early flight tomorrow, but Chloe gets the feeling as she digs her spoon into a pint of mint chip that she’ll be too excited to actually get a good night’s sleep.

 

She and the other Bellas had planned this trip over a month ago now, and every day since, it had felt disappointingly out of reach. And the start of summer vacation two weeks prior meant a lot of time spent on boring course prep and no classes full of excitable kids to help pass the time.

 

After a quick check to ascertain that she remembers her flight details correctly, Chloe returns to her bedroom to call it a night.

 

Normally, she would just drive the five hours to Barden, but this is Chloe’s first vacation in a while and she’d wanted to make the most of it with the comparatively shorter flight. Plus, Aubrey had promised to pick her up at the airport and she’s eager for their own little reunion. They’d just met each other halfway for a weekend lunch a couple of months ago, but that couldn’t really compare to the thrill of starting a weeklong vacation together side by side.

 

With that final thought, Chloe slides beneath her sheets and closes her eyes against the faint golden light of the street lamps spilling in through the curtain. The excitement of tomorrow is only a sleep away.

 

* * *

 

Aubrey is right there waiting as soon as Chloe exits the arrivals area, as close as she can get without going through security. Chloe abandons her rolling suitcase and purse and runs the last few feet into her friend’s open arms.

 

“It’s so good to see you!” Aubrey exclaims as they rock side to side in their tight embrace. “It feels like it’s been ages.”

 

“Right?” Chloe agrees, and they finally pull away so she can retrieve her bags.

 

She follows Aubrey through the airport and into the parking garage, regaling her with the best tales of her students’ shenanigans. Aubrey updates her on the success of the Lodge and Chloe tells her friend how proud she is that she’d found her calling.

 

Once they’re in Aubrey’s car on the way out of the airport, the conversation drifts. Aubrey throws her a quick glance.

 

“So... you’ve been thinking about Beca again?”

 

Chloe stiffens slightly and turns to look at her. “I guess,” she says slowly. “After Tyler and I broke up, and we started that group chat, I don’t know, I just started thinking about her and... I still miss her, Aubrey.”

 

Aubrey smiles sympathetically. “I know, Chlo.”

 

“I just wish I knew what happened to her. You know she even changed her number after a year or so? I have  _no_  way of contacting her. I don’t even know if she still works at that recording studio.”

 

Aubrey sighs, heart aching for her friend. Chloe is such an emotionally based person, she takes everything to heart, and Beca’s veritable abandonment had cut her deeper than she would even admit. Not that Aubrey hadn’t worried for Beca, too, for a while there. Sure, they hadn’t gotten along well (or at all) for most of that first year, but after their ICCA win owing to the then-freshman’s influence, they had developed a mutual respect for each other, if nothing else. Although in her more tender moments Aubrey liked to think they had even become friends, if not particularly close ones.

 

She turns the car onto the freeway towards Barden and asks, “I thought she was getting better at not shutting people out?” Maybe Chloe just needs to talk things out, Aubrey decides. And then she can get on with enjoying their reunion vacation. She wants her best friend to be happy, and she’s determined to make it so by the time they arrive at their hotel near Barden.

 

“She was!” Chloe huffs. “That’s why there has to be a really good reason why she cut m- all of us off so suddenly.”

 

“Like what?”

 

“I don’t know...” Chloe pauses, contemplative, but no specific explanation comes to her. “Something bad,” she decides. “Why else would she stop talking to us after... after everything?”

 

Aubrey side-eyes her when they roll to a stop in traffic. “Did you two ever...?” she asks, mostly expecting a negative response.

 

Chloe’s eyes widen. “What? No. What do you mean?”

 

Or not.

 

“Wow, you sounded an awful lot like Beca just then,” Aubrey remarks, pristine eyebrow arched in judgment. The line of traffic ahead of them starts moving and she eases the car forward again. “And you  _know_  what I mean, Chloe.”

 

Chloe presses her lips together, releasing a slow sigh from between them. “Okay. Maybe we... We might have.”

 

“Aca-seriously?!” It takes everything Aubrey has not to slam on the brakes right there and cause an accident fifteen miles from Barden. That would not reflect well on her insurance premium. “ _When?_ ”

 

Chloe shrugs, equal parts sheepish and resigned to sharing this revelation. Aubrey tries to suppress her shock. It’s not often she sees  _Chloe Beale_  acting sheepish. “Like, three months after Worlds?” Chloe offers.

 

Aubrey narrows her eyes, trying to place when... “Cynthia Rose’s wedding?!”

 

Chloe’s hands go up in defense. “Hey, weddings are totes romantic, okay? Our hotel rooms were right next to each other and, well, one thing just led to another after the reception.”

 

“Yeah, you two were certainly taking advantage of that open bar, I noticed,” Aubrey scoffs.

 

“Rude.” Chloe pouts, crossing her arms over her chest.

 

“Sorry,” Aubrey sighs. “I’m just... Why didn’t you ever tell me about this?”

 

“Maybe because I thought you wouldn’t approve. You never approved of my casual flings with Tom in college, either.”

 

“Chloe, I didn’t-” Aubrey starts, apologetic, but Chloe barrels on.

 

“And after the second time-”

 

“Second time?!” This time, Aubrey really does slam on the breaks, but luckily they’re only moving at about ten miles per hour, anyway. She starts driving again when the car behind them honks their irritation at the abrupt stop.

 

When Chloe’s explanation isn’t forthcoming, Aubrey prods, more gently, “The second time?”

 

Chloe nods. “At her apartment. Remember the farewell party?” She waits for Aubrey to nod, then adds, “It was after you left to drive Emily back to campus. We weren’t as drunk that time, but we weren’t exactly sober.” She laughs, but there’s no mirth in it. It makes Aubrey’s heart clench painfully. “I know it probably didn’t mean anything, but I kind of cherished those moments, you know? I think that’s why I didn’t tell you. I didn’t want reality to cloud my memory of it all, as stupid as that sounds.”

 

Aubrey risks removing her right hand from the steering wheel to place it over Chloe’s left where it rests on her thigh. “It’s not stupid, and I’m sorry I ever made you feel like you couldn’t talk to me about this,” she intones. “I’m sure she cared more than she let on, Chlo. Beca may have been an emotionally stunted troll, but she wasn’t heartless.”

 

“Thanks.” Chloe’s laugh this time is slightly tearful, but at least there’s humor in it. She follows it up with a grimace. “You talk about her like she’s dead,” she points out.

 

Aubrey shrugs, dismissive. “She hurt you. She’s dead to me,” she says, only slightly joking.

 

Chloe pulls her hand from Aubrey’s and gives it a light slap of admonishment. “Hush, you.”

 

They fall into a comfortable silence as the traffic picks up and soon they’re turning off the freeway and passing signs for Barden University.

 

The girls had all decided to book rooms in the same hotel about half a mile from the campus. Amy had claimed at first that the place was too lowkey for her ‘good taste and high standards,’ but it was relatively cheap and had plenty of vacancies, and with everyone else in agreement she eventually gave in. They didn’t anticipate spending a lot of their time on the Barden campus itself, but it’s nice to be close by for nostalgia’s sake. Besides, anything is better than the tent they’d had to share at the Lodge.

 

Flo, Ashley, and Jessica are all standing in the parking lot when Aubrey pulls in, and wave when they spot the two new arrivals. Chloe waves enthusiastically back for the both of them as Aubrey locates a space next to a car she recognizes as Stacie’s. She has barely put the car in park before Chloe’s leaping out the passenger side door and into a group hug from the approaching girls. 

 

Aubrey takes more time, ensuring she’s removed the keys from the ignition and has her cell phone and purse with her before opening her door and stepping out. As she does, she notices Lilly lurking nearby behind the bushes lining the front of the hotel and suppresses a shudder of surprise. She’d nearly forgotten how weird the girl’s habits are.

 

Aubrey rounds the car to get her and Chloe’s bags from the trunk, but is swept up in a hug much like the one Chloe had received before she can make it halfway there. She returns the embrace with a laugh and then steps back to take everyone in.

 

Flo’s hair is longer. Jessica and Ashley both look tanned, probably from the Arizona sun. She thinks she’d spotted glasses on Lilly but she can’t really be sure through all the leaves on the bushes. But aside from minor differences, they all look much the same as they had the last time she’d seen each of them, and more importantly they all look good, happy. She’s glad her Bella sisters, or the half that are here anyway, seem to be faring well.

 

The girls all chat as they make their way into the hotel, save Lilly, who is trailing behind them by a few feet. Aubrey and Chloe check in, discovering they’re on the same floor as Jessica, Ashley, and Stacie. Flo, Lilly, and Emily’s rooms are located a floor above them, and only Cynthia Rose and Amy have yet to arrive.

 

“I can’t believe we’re finally here,” Chloe says as they all pile into the elevator. “I swear it felt like this reunion would never come. I’ve been excited since before we started planning it.”

 

“Me, too,” Jessica and Ashley say in unison. The other three nod their agreement.

 

“Where are Stacie and Emily?” Aubrey asks, watching the floor numbers creep upward on the display above the doors.

 

“Probably still unpacking,” answers Flo. “They got here just before you two did.”

 

The elevator creaks to a stop just then and brushed steel doors open to reveal a floral carpeted hallway lined with doors. Chloe, Aubrey, Jessica, and Ashley depart and leave the remaining two to ride up one more floor and retrieve Emily. As the doors slide shut behind them, Chloe considers the fortuity of the situation in that of all the girls in the group, only Flo would be brave enough to ride in an enclosed space with Lilly by herself.

 

Jess and Ashley’s room, while on the same floor, is at the opposite end of the hall from Aubrey and Chloe’s rooms, so they part ways and agree to meet back at the elevators in twenty minutes.

 

Once she’s alone in her hotel room, Chloe sinks onto the bed and sighs in relief. It’s not the greatest mattress – she might not even call it good under normal circumstances – but it’s a lot better than sitting in an airplane and then Aubrey’s cramped car for the last two hours. She’d forgotten how much air travel sucks in that regard. Although, that had been nothing compared to their flight to Denmark five years ago.

 

Chloe gives herself five minutes to relax on the bed, then another five to convince herself to get up, and by the time she’s finished unpacking Aubrey is already knocking on her door and telling her they’re going to be late to meet the others.

 

She finds Stacie standing next to Aubrey when she opens the door and they get their hugs and excited giggles out of the way before heading back to the elevators.

 

“I’ll admit, it’s kind of nice to be back here,” Stacie says as they emerge into the lobby a few minutes later. “I like D.C., but I suppose there’s something to be said for going back to your roots.”

 

“Oh yeah, I forgot you’re in D.C. now. How is your residency going?” Chloe asks.

 

“It’s great. Challenging work, but I enjoy it. Lots of cute doctors in the hospital to enjoy, too, if you know what I mean.” She winks, but not at Chloe. Chloe looks over her shoulder and spots one of the hotel staff walking by.

 

“ _Everyone_  knows what you mean, Stacie,” comes Amy’s exasperated voice as she walks through the front doors. Chloe doesn’t know how she heard anything Stacie said when she’s only just entered the building, but then, she can’t explain a lot of the things her friends say and do.

 

She tries not to let this thought remind her of the conversation she had with Aubrey in the car. She fails, but thankfully the squeals of the seven girls around her distract her quickly and she gets caught up in the rush to dogpile Amy, who complains they’re cramping her style but returns the hug with equal enthusiasm.

 

Still, this is a  _Bellas_  reunion, and when they’re all eating lunch in a nearby restaurant later after everyone has arrived, Chloe’s thoughts can’t help drifting back to Beca, who would surely hate all of the hugging they’ve been doing. Everything about the reunion is lovely so far, almost like old times, but the group isn’t complete. She feels it in every chorus of laughter, in the way some of the girls seem ready to call out their former captain when a particular joke or story reminds them of her, only to stop and shift the conversation when they remember.

 

She isn’t here.

 

* * *

 

Two thousand miles away, Beca Mitchell flips a switch on the mixing board in her studio and tells the man on the other side of the glass to take five. He waves his acknowledgment and sets his headphones on the small table beside the microphone setup before leaving the room.

 

With a sigh, Beca sinks back into her chair.

 

She should be more excited about this, she thinks. It’s the first project the studio has given her to do with entirely as she pleases, up until final reviews. No higher-level producers calling the shots, no one looking over her shoulder. Her boss had more or less implied that her work on this would make or break her chances of cutting the ‘junior’ out her ‘junior producer’ title within the year.

 

Sure, the guy isn’t the most famous talent she’s seen come through the studio doors, but he already has one Top 40 hit to his name, and it’s more than Beca had expected when her boss came to her last month and said he had a ‘surprise’ for her.

 

So, yeah, she should be ecstatic. Because she can totally work with this artist’s sound and she has little doubt that the final product is going to sound amazing, so what is there to worry about? She’s only doing everything she’s ever dreamed of, and that promotion is well within her reach.

 

She should be ecstatic.

 

Instead, she feels a little lost.

 

Beca rakes a hand through her hair, releasing a puff of air through pursed lips.

 

She knows she only has herself to blame for these feelings. After what happened, she’d been rather impulsive in her decision to shut out everyone she loves. Beca hadn’t been so quick to erect her walls since she joined the Bellas nine years ago. And wow, if that thought doesn’t make her feel somehow old and childish at the same time.

 

She’d known it was a stupid decision not long after she’d made it, but some imprudent combination of shame and pride stopped her from giving in and calling Chl- anyone to apologize.

 

Over time, it just got easier to stand by her decision. If her father leaving had taught her anything, it’s that the people you love always hold the power to hurt you. And maybe they had reconciled for a while there, but she had never fully given up on the philosophy that she’d developed for herself at thirteen, after her dad stopped coming home.

 

Leave them before they can leave you.

 

It had seemed like a good idea when she was a kid, and in that moment of desperation three years ago. But it’s about as ill advised as amputating your fingers to avoid getting a paper cut. Cutting yourself off from the people you care about before something bad happens doesn’t make losing them any easier, it only makes you lonelier that much faster.

 

Beca’s yanked from her spiraling thoughts by a knock on the window separating her workstation from the sound booth. Her artist, Javier, had returned from his break. Beca doesn’t know long he’s been trying to get her attention but he gives her a raised eyebrow and thumbs up when she finally lifts her head and sees him there.

 

She returns his thumbs up with an awkward one of her own, flicks a few switches on her board, and then they get back to work.

 

* * *

 

By mid-afternoon they’ve finished recording all of the tracks Beca had planned for today and then some, so she decides to call it day. She chats with Javier briefly when he comes around to her side, giving him a progress update before sending him on his way.

 

As she’s packing up her things to leave, her phone buzzes on the table beside the mixing board. When she sees the caller ID, she shoves the rolling chair out of the way and snatches it up.

 

“Hello?”

 

“ _Hi. Ms. Mitchell?_ ” a high, nervous voice asks from the other end.

 

“Yeah, Eleanor?” Beca asks, somewhat impatient. No one else has ever answered Beca’s phone, so she doesn’t know why Eleanor insists on confirming it’s her every time she calls.

 

“ _Um, don’t worry or anything, but there’s sort of been a mishap here._ ”

 

Beca rolls her eyes. “How am I expected not to worry when you say vague things like that, Eleanor?”

 

“ _Sorry. It’s nothing serious, really. Henry just took a bit of a tumble and scraped up his hands and knees. He was a little upset and wanted to know when you’d be home._ ”

 

Beca sighs, relieved it isn’t anything serious, and shifts her phone to hold it between her ear and shoulder so she can finish packing up. “I just finished for the day. I’m leaving now, so I’ll be home in about fifteen minutes.”

 

“ _Okay, I’ll tell him._ ”

 

“Can you put him on?” Beca asks, retaking her phone in one hand and slinging her bag over her shoulder with the other.

 

“ _Sure,_ ” Eleanor says, and a second later Beca hears an even higher-pitched voice in her ear.

 

“ _Mommy?_ ”

 

Beca can’t suppress a smile.  _God_ , she’s gotten sappy. “Hey, dude. What’s up?”

 

“ _I fell_ ,” he states matter-of-factly. “ _When’re you coming home?_ ”

 

“Soon, buddy. I’m already in the car.” Beca tosses her bag into the passenger seat and then slides into the driver’s.

 

She tells Henry she has to hang up now so she can drive and he bids her goodbye before hanging up on her. Chuckling, Beca tosses the phone over to join her bag, then starts the car.

 

It may not be exactly the life Beca had envisioned for herself, but it isn’t terrible, either. She has regrets – who doesn’t? And maybe someday she’ll work up the courage to contact her friends and family again, to trust that they won’t abandon her no matter the circumstances. But for now, she’s content for life to just be her music and her son.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I didn't realize it's been a year since I last updated this. Sorry! I just kind of lost inspiration and interest for a while, but I've picked it back up again and hopefully I'll be able to maintain it long enough to finish this and the other new fic I started. I'm also sorry if the quality of this chapter is lacking - I was struggling with it and eventually I just gave up where it was at and this is the result. Thanks to everyone who is still reading this and also to any new readers!

The moment Beca steps through the door of her apartment, a pair of tiny arms latches around her left leg. She grins as she knocks the door closed with her right heel and tosses her bag to the floor so she can squat down to return the embrace.

 

"Hey, dude," she says when Henry finally pulls back. "You okay?" She brushes messy brown hair off his forehead and then taps at one of the hands still clinging to her pant leg.

 

Henry nods but turns his palms up for her to see anyway. They're still a little red, but there's no blood and no sign of lingering tears in his dark blue eyes, so she clasps his small hands in her own and kisses his forehead before standing to lead him into the kitchen.

 

His babysitter Eleanor is waiting in there with a bright smile, gathering her things in preparation to leave.

 

"Hi, Beca," she greets.

 

Beca grabs Henry under the armpits and swings him up to sit on the counter beside her. "Hey, Eleanor," she replies, pulling a wad of takeout menus from a drawer. She's too tired tonight to cook one of the five meals she's mastered at this point.

 

She gives the menus to Henry to parse through even though he can barely read and goes back to the door for her bag so she can get money to pay Eleanor.

 

"How's school going?" Beca asks when she returns to the kitchen with her wallet and starts counting out bills. Eleanor is an undergrad in her second year at UCLA, and always seems to appreciate Beca checking up on her progress. Beca personally hadn't been a fan of her father doing the same to her back at Barden, but that's probably because she'd frequently skipped class. Eleanor, in contrast, seems to be much more studious, always studying or doing homework while Henry naps or watches television. Her youthful enthusiasm almost reminds Beca of Emily sometimes, but she quickly pushes those thoughts away.

 

After Eleanor has updated her on the wonders and challenges of fast-paced summer courses and has said goodbye to Henry, Beca waves her out the door so she can get home before dark.

 

"Did you pick something, buddy?" Beca asks once the door has clicked shut.

 

"Uh huh." Henry hands her the menu for their favorite pizza place and Beca's not at all surprised. It's the one he always chooses, largely due to the anthropomorphic pizza cartoon on the front of the bi-fold.

 

She orders the pizza and gets Henry settled in the living room with a coloring book and crayons before making her way down the hall to her bedroom.

 

While shucking off her work clothes, Beca's mind drifts back to the people who have been on her mind all day. Despite the time that has passed, she knows what date is fast approaching – the five year anniversary of the Bellas' win at the World Championship. She can't  _stop_  thinking about it, honestly. Beca knows without a doubt that a reunion will be happening soon, if it isn't already. The girls would be all too eager for a chance to bring the whole group back together in one place.

 

Just imagining the craziness that would ensue sends a pang of guilt and longing through her chest. It's almost enough to have her fingers twitching towards the phone sitting on her bedspread. Almost.

 

With a sigh, Beca tugs on some sweatpants and an old baggy t-shirt and drops heavily onto her mattress.

 

She doesn't really know what's stopping her at this point.  If she's honest with herself, she knows now just as well as she knew then that the Bellas would never have abandoned her – for any reason (up to and including premeditated murder, which she's reasonably, if uncomfortably, certain Lilly in particular would have gladly helped her commit). Hell, after their reconciliation, Beca was fairly certain that even her father would have been supportive. And one Bella specifically, Beca knows, would have been the first to hop on a plane and fly across the country just to give Beca a hug and talk her down from the first panic attack she'd had while sitting over that positive pregnancy test.

 

But she was scared. Terrified. And fear has always made her do stupid things. Like quit the Bellas after semi-finals freshman year, or push away her friends, or keep her internship a secret. Like cutting her family out of her life because she thought she would have to figure out the mistake she'd made on her own.

 

She'd been afraid to become a burden on them to the point that they'd give up on her, a possibility Beca wasn't sure she'd be able to handle, not after the mess that had been her father leaving. And however irrational that fear might have been, she's lived her life by it for three years now. She wouldn't know how to reinitiate contact after all this time.

 

The sound of the apartment buzzer startles Beca from her thoughts. With another sigh, she pushes off the bed and hurries to let the delivery person up.

 

"Pizza?" Henry asks excitedly, little feet slapping against the wood floor as he chases after her. Beca has to stop him from running out the door when she opens it to accept the delivery.

 

And once again, she suddenly has the Bellas on her mind, reminded of the way only the promise of food could get Amy vertical running sometimes, of nights spent in the Bella house eating pizza and imbibing too much beer and wine as they laughed their way through game and movie nights.

 

And once again, she tries to push the thoughts away.

 

* * *

 

Later, after she has scrubbed Henry clean of the grease he always manages to get  _everywhere_  and has tucked him into bed and sung him to sleep, Beca shuffles back out to the living room and collapses on the couch with a grunt of relief. She loves the kid, but he can be completely exhausting most days.

 

Still, it's a lot better now than it had been in the early days, before set routines and learning how to cook (sort of) and the miracle of babysitters. She'd been a mess. And too far into her self-imposed isolation to consider crawling back to beg forgiveness and ask for help. She had made that bed in her fourth month of pregnancy and was convinced she had to lie in it.

 

But here she is, two and a half years into motherhood, and she really is doing okay. Not perfect, but still good – a state she hadn't been sure she'd ever reach back then, despite assurances from every reputable book and website she could find. It had certainly been a roller coaster, and not what she'd been hoping for from a one-night stand after a night of heavy drinking with some coworkers. At first, she had stupidly believed her bouts of morning sickness to be a persistent case of the flu, and she'd been so busy taking on new responsibilities in her first months as a junior producer that it had taken her an embarrassing nine weeks to realize something else might be going on.

 

For another two months, she'd tried her best to ignore it beyond the few doctor appointments she'd attended. All options for how to proceed had been presented to her, but Beca hadn't yet been able to come to a decision, and the pressure of work and other commitments had her on the edge of a nervous breakdown almost constantly.

 

Aside from the doctor, she hadn't told a single person of her situation. Her coworkers who saw her on a daily basis had maybe started to suspect something, but as far as everyone else had been concerned, Beca was doing just fine and loving her new job and that was that. Her contact with everyone had already been limited by then, as she was still trying to figure out a new work-life balance, and at that point it had been a bit too easy to just let conversation with them drop off completely as the weeks drifted by.

 

It had been shortly after her transition into total radio silence that Beca had finally come to a decision regarding the pregnancy, one that had honestly surprised even her. She’d wanted to keep it. As much as she had known that it would probably be the hardest thing she’d ever do, Beca couldn’t bring herself to abort it. That would have felt too much like cutting and running, and though she's clearly no stranger to that response to difficult situations, she couldn't help thinking that it would have made her no better than her father in that regard. And she hadn't wanted to quit on her kid before she even had it.

 

Beca had ended up changing her mind back and forth several times in the weeks that followed, still wildly unsure of her ability to become even an approximation of a decent mother. But then her exasperated obstetrician had finally convinced Beca to let her do an ultrasound, and Beca's mind had been well and truly made up. She'd still felt completely out of her depth, but something about seeing that blurry greyscale blob on the ultrasound screen convinced her that she had to do it, even if she would be doing it alone. Her mom had managed single parenthood after her dad left (at least, until  _she'd_  left Beca, too) – surely she could figure it out, as well. Right?

 

And eight months into the whole ordeal (apparently babies can come early? Who knew) Beca suddenly had a whole new human being to take care of and still very little idea of how to do that. She'd done a lot of panicking after that, made a lot of unnecessary calls to the pediatrician and more than a few mistakes – at home and at work – but Beca's nothing if not stubborn, and she'd managed to power through the fear and exhaustion with the same determination she's always dedicated to her music in order to find a much-needed balance.

 

And she's comfortable now. She still has the occasional hiccup in navigating life – but who doesn't? She's producing her first album on her own. She's a decent mother, according to Eleanor and the three coworkers she regularly tolerates. She isn't the poor, starving artist her father had predicted she'd be if she ever tried to pursue her dream (and okay, fine, maybe the double degree in business and music composition has helped a  _little_ , but that's hardly significant to her argument here).

 

She's fine. She's good, all things considered. Life isn't terrible.

 

But once again, she can't ignore the niggling sense of  _something_  missing. And if she's honest with herself, Beca knows exactly what that something is. She's stubborn, and maybe a bit (a lot) of an impulsive idiot, but she's not clueless. It's just that somehow, the longer she goes without trying to fix this problem, the harder it is for her to believe she actually  _can_. Because truthfully, even three years later, she feels ashamed and embarrassed.

 

Not because she'd gotten pregnant by a nameless one-night stand – it's the 21st century for god’s sake, and if the girls can accept Chloe failing a class she could pass in her sleep for six straight semesters, or Lilly's dubious legal innocence, or all of the money Fat Amy's stolen off them over the years, then they can certainly accept this – but because of the way she'd reacted when everything had become too real and the fear had set in. She had bailed, and it hadn't been the smartest decision, but she’s stuck with it for three years.

 

Stubborn pride is a right bitch, but Beca's often been guilty of falling into its comforting embrace. And she's always been exceptionally good at ignoring her issues, too.

 

Lying there on her sofa, gazing up at the ceiling with eyes bleary from exhaustion, Beca tries to parse through the conflicting thoughts and emotions swirling like a tempest within her. She knows that she could start to mend all of this with a single phone call to the one person whose support Beca had always valued above all others, for reasons she'd long tried to deny or ignore. She knows it would all probably turn out okay in the end. She knows what she  _should_  do.

 

Instead, she reaches for the remote sitting beside her phone and switches on the TV.

 

Beca wonders if she'll ever stop escaping down the path that only leads to loneliness.

 

* * *

 

"What about Beca's mom? Was she ever contacted after Beca went silent?" Stacie wonders later, when they're sitting over drinks in their hotel's bar.

 

After their late lunch, they'd taken a nostalgic walk around campus and stopped to visit the handful of current Bellas still on campus for the summer. On their way back to the hotel, Amy had insisted on drinks, and now here they've been for the last two hours, laughing and chatting and drinking too much, just as they'd done back in college. (Well, most of them. Aubrey insists on remaining relatively sober in case they have to be corralled up to their rooms later.)

 

But somehow, the conversation had started to shift from reminiscing and catching up towards Beca and their various failed attempts to contact her.

 

At Stacie's question, Chloe directs a frown towards her fingers where she's tangling them together in her lap. "Beca's mom died when she was in high school," she tells them solemnly. "She lived with an aunt while she finished her senior year before she moved down here to go to Barden at her dad's insistence."

 

"What? Why didn't she ever tell us that?" Amy asks, uncharacteristically quiet.

 

Aubrey's grip on her glass tightens, face pinching slightly at this new information. "Wait, so she'd just lost her mom when she started at Barden?"

 

"Well, it had been about a year at that point," Chloe explains. "She never really wanted to talk about it. You all know how Beca is. Getting her to open up was difficult at the best of times." She shrugs, frown deepening as she stops fiddling with her fingers and places her hands flat on the table instead.

 

"But she opened up to you," Emily observes softly.

 

Cynthia Rose snorts. "'Course she did. It's Chloe." And no one bothers to contest the point, all understanding the truth of it to some degree, though Chloe does feel a slight flush color her cheeks at this acknowledgement.

 

"Hey, maybe we should go to LA and look for her!" Emily suggests, with more enthusiasm than a spontaneous two thousand-mile journey really merits. "We could go to the studio she works for, see if she's there. Maybe-"

 

"Maybe the recording studio is actually the base for a cult and that is why she has been unable to contact us for all this time," Flo interrupts. "The same thing once happened to my cousin."

 

"I-" Chloe starts, brow furrowed, then stops and shakes her head. "I'm sorry about your cousin, Flo, but I don't think that's what happened to Beca. And Em, I tried contacting the studio lots of times, but they won't give out information on employees. They wouldn't even transfer calls from people who aren't on some 'Family and Friends' list, apparently." Chloe sighs, eyes dropping to the table as she scratches at the polished wood with a fingernail.

 

Truthfully, she would love nothing more than to follow Emily's suggestion and track Beca down in person. She'd actually come close to doing it several times in the first year of Beca's silence, but she had always stopped herself. Because somewhere in the back of her mind, there had always been the nagging fear that maybe Beca wouldn't want her there, that maybe she had cut them out of her life because she simply didn't want them in it anymore. This possibility still hurts her deep in her chest, but she knows that if she took the chance and it turned out to be true, it would absolutely  _gut_  her. That's what has always stopped her.

 

Somehow, it's easier to have lost Beca without knowing why than to lose her with the certainty that she isn't wanted.

 

"Chloe," Aubrey says gently, and Chloe's suddenly reminded that she's probably been sitting in silence for a little too long. Aubrey's left hand covers her right, stopping her from scratching at the table.

 

"Sorry," Chloe says, smiling sheepishly when she looks up to see all of the girls' eyes on her. "It's just... I've considered going to LA before. But I'm afraid that..." She trails off, but they all nod in understanding, and it only serves to make tears prick at her eyes, because  _god_ , she really loves these girls – her sisters.

 

They all share an awkward chain-hug around the table as Chloe sniffs and laughs and tries not to cry. And when she purposefully steers the conversation away, toward Emily and whether she has kept up with songwriting while she's in grad school, they let the subject drop.

 

As Fat Amy is gleefully calling for another round of shots over Emily's attempt to answer the question, Chloe spots a flash of white out of the corner of her eye and turns her head to see Lilly sliding a napkin across the table to her. Chloe almost tells her there's no need – she'd stopped the tears, she's fine – but then she spots Lilly's unmistakable handwriting beneath the printed hotel bar logo, bold and clear in the way her speech never is.

 

The other girls are all distracted around them, some chastising Amy for interrupting Emily and others seconding the call for more alcohol, so Chloe slides the paper napkin closer, confused twist to her lips, and leans forward to read what Lilly has written.

 

It's an address. In  _Los Angeles._

 

Chloe jerks her gaze back up to Lilly, who's staring back at her with disturbingly wide eyes and a barely-there smile. She says something then, and Chloe's too far away to hear it, but from her lips she thinks it's "I found her for you." That, or something about a fire, but Chloe is much more comfortable assuming it's the former.

 

With a wide-eyed look of her own, she stares back down at the address on the napkin and tries not to think about whatever doubtlessly illegal activity enabled Lilly to obtain this information. What's important is that she has it now.

 

It's just a matter of deciding whether to use it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter! I rushed through the end a bit and didn't really check it over, so I apologize for any mistakes, but I wanted to get this posted tonight. Thank you for the kudos and all of your lovely comments on the last chapter. I'm not entirely sure how long this is going to be yet, but I hope to keep things rolling for you all as best I can. Hope you enjoy!

Chloe tucks the napkin into her back pocket with slightly trembling hands before anyone else can take notice of it, feeling as though it's something to be kept private at the moment.

 

When the waiter slides a tray of shots into the center of their table, she snatches one up and downs it in a single movement, glad for the relief it will offer. She wants to look at it, to stare at the letters and numbers forming the LA address in hopes they'll reveal all of the answers she seeks, but she  _can't_  dwell on it now. Because she also wants to be present and enjoy her time in Georgia while it lasts without being bogged down by insecurities and what-ifs and, okay yeah, heady anticipation of what the future with this newfound knowledge may hold. She just needs to pace herself. Enjoy the rest of this evening with her girls.

 

But patience and effective compartmentalization have never been among her strongest virtues, and the moment Chloe stumbles through her hotel room door later that night, after Aubrey has walked her there and bid her goodnight, she is tugging the folded napkin from her pocket and gazing down at the script on the wrinkled material in an almost reverent manner.

 

Her eyes barely leave it as she proceeds to rest it on the bedside table and strip off her clothes in favor of just an oversized t-shirt and her underwear. She hurries off to the bathroom and brushes her teeth with a speed that would make her dentist frown, wipes her face clean of makeup, and then returns to her bed to recover the napkin and her phone, barely pausing before she's navigating to the Maps app and tapping in the address.

 

It takes a few moments to load, the hotel wifi agonizingly worse than her own back home, but then it's finally zeroing in on a spot miles and miles from the blue dot that had indicated her own location. The little red pin drops on the overhead satellite view of an unremarkable apartment building in a likewise unremarkable area of Los Angeles, California. Not that she'd been expecting anything too shocking – though she may have been slightly fearing it to reveal a sketchier locale. The strange mix of anxiety and anticipation running through her veins lessens ever so slightly as she releases a tense breath, eyes fixed on the screen.

 

She doesn't know what to do next. It's not as though Google will allow her to peer inside the building in real time or anything. There's nothing else she  _can_  do. Not from here.

 

With a sigh of equal parts exhaustion and inexplicable disappointment, Chloe folds the napkin back up, clicks her phone off, and sets both on the nightstand before switching off the lamp. Given the excitement of the day and the dwindling effects of the alcohol on her system, it doesn't take long for her to drift off into sleep.

 

* * *

 

As much as she tries to avoid it, the rest of her week with the Bellas goes much the same way. Days are spent laughing and singing and reminiscing as they shop or lounge by the hotel pool, nights are passed with the benefit of alcohol as they hop amongst the various clubs and bars they'd frequented back in college. Conversation is easy except for when it hiccups around topics involving Beca, which for the most part Chloe can tell they're all trying to avoid – whether for her benefit after the mess she'd been that first night or because it saddens them too much as well, she doesn't know. It's only in the lulls of each day – riding up and down elevators, the walks between shops and bars, laying in her bed each morning and night – that her mind drifts back to that address on the napkin still resting on her nightstand.

 

She still doesn't know what to do.

 

* * *

 

Beca spends the first part of her Saturday morning staring blearily up at her bedroom ceiling as consciousness slowly returns to her. Something feels off, she thinks, but her head is still too fuzzy with sleep at first to figure out what that is. 

 

It isn't until she realizes exactly what she's doing – waking up gradually, with no alarm or small, excitable child yanking her from a dead sleep – that Beca comes to her full senses and sits bolt upright in her bed. It's  _too_  quiet.

 

Tossing the bed covers aside and swinging her legs around, Beca pushes up off the warm comfort of her mattress and shuffles out of the room. Her fists rub at tired eyes as she yawns her way down the hall at a clipped pace until she's pushing through the half-open door of her son's bedroom.

 

Empty.

 

Unsurprised, Beca covers the remaining distance of the hallway and quickly scans the just as empty living room to her left before swerving around the corner into the kitchen.

 

The sight that meets her eyes there makes her heart swell at the same time a heavy sigh escapes her lips.

 

The best way to describe it is, well, absolute chaos.

 

Slices of bread flop out of the unplugged toaster, beside which are streaks of butter, peanut butter, and jam doing a great impression of a Jackson Pollock painting on the surface of the counter. Further down, she can see the large bowl that she usually keeps under the counter is full of several cracked eggs and most of their shells, with strings of egg white dripping in glistening streams down the sides. Beside that is the empty egg carton and yet more food, including two peeled bananas, an unpeeled orange, and an open bag of all purpose flour. And in the midst of it all is Henry, standing on his bathroom stool, wearing a bit of just about everything on his face, hands and solar system pajamas. 

 

Clearly, he had inherited her skills in the kitchen. She's just glad he doesn't know how to turn on the stove.

 

Beca steps into the kitchen cautiously, taking it all in. Henry is working on opening a third banana, tongue poking out the side of his mouth and one tiny hand squeezing the banana tight enough to bruise it as the other yanks at the stem, so he doesn't notice her entrance until she speaks.

 

"Hey, dude. What're you doing?"

 

Wide eyes and an even wider smile turn on her in an instant, and it makes it really difficult to be mad about the mess she'll have to clean up later. "Mom! I'm making you breakfas!"

 

She has let him 'help' her mix boxed pancake batter or spread butter on toast in the past, but this is the first time he has ever attempted anything of this sort on his own. Beca doesn't know whether to find it completely endearing or berate her past self for not warning him against such an attempt. She settles on a good mix of both.

 

"I see that," she responds, stepping forward to take the abused banana from him. "Seems like you're having some trouble though, huh?"

 

Henry shrugs, wiping his hands down the front of his pajama pants. "Uh huh. Eggs are hard."

 

Beca snorts a laugh and sets the banana aside so she can lift him up onto her hip. His arms immediately wrap around her neck, sticky fingers brushing through her loose hair, and Beca just knows she'll be washing peanut butter and god knows what else out of it later.

 

"So," she starts, hoping she's not about to upset him (it can be hard not to stick your foot in your mouth when it comes to the sensitivity of toddlers, she's learned), "this looks really awesome, buddy, and I'm really glad you tried to make me breakfast. But how about we clean this up and go get pancakes instead? That'll be a lot easier, don't you think?" She just doesn't know how she can salvage this situation anyway, knowing with the egg mess that the kitchen is basically just a salmonella hazard at this point.

 

To her great relief, Henry simply nods his head and bounces slightly in her arms. "Okay."

 

"Awesome. Let's get cleaned up, then."

 

Glancing again over the mess on the counter, Beca thinks it's not as daunting as it could have been had she not seen this kind of thing before. Not from Henry, of course, but over the years at Barden she had discovered Amy's unfortunate penchant for fancying herself a master chef on occasion, always in the middle of the night and usually after coming home drunk from a night out with Bumper or one of her other boyfriends. And she would always claim not to be responsible for her actions due to some ridiculous excuse or another before quickly vanishing and leaving the others – usually Beca – to deal with the mess.

 

Beca wonders why the memories she's spent so long stubbornly trying to repress are suddenly flowing so freely, but this one brings a small, fond smile to her lips, and she can't find it in herself to push it away.

 

Maybe it's a sign – that she's tired, that she's ready to sack up and deal with her issues the proper way, that she can only let herself be suffocated by the loneliness and isolation for so long before something has to give. Or maybe her brain is just an asshole and it's just the reminder of the Worlds anniversary bringing all this about. She doesn't know for sure.

 

Beca sighs again and carries Henry to the sink to help him wash his hands.

 

One mess at a time, she tells herself.

 

* * *

 

Kitchen cleaned and child bathed, Beca sets about getting herself ready for the day while Henry watches cartoons on the couch with strict instructions not to make any more messes. She'd decided halfway through scrubbing jam out of the grout on the counter that she'd need an entire pot of coffee in her before she would be prepared to do anything else productive today, so she hurries through her preparations with the image of the diner down the street hanging tantalizingly inside her head.

 

Half an hour later, Beca's locking the apartment door behind them and taking Henry's hand to lead him down the stairs. On their way out of the building, they pass the elderly woman who lives two doors down from them and who Beca uses as an occasional emergency babysitter when Eleanor is unavailable. Mrs. Brown waves a wrinkled hand at them in greeting, but must sense that Beca is in no mood for a long-winded conversation because she doesn't say anything else beyond "Good morning, you two" as Beca and Henry sidestep out the front door she's holding open for them.

 

Beca returns her 'Good morning' with all the enthusiasm she can muster while running on zero caffeine and Henry waves back at her, and then they're making their way down the sidewalk with purpose.

 

Once they're seated in a booth waiting for their food and Beca finally has a streaming mug of coffee in front of her, she relaxes into her vinyl seat with a contented exhale, ears picking up the tinny strains of a summer single she'd helped produce filtering through the diner's speakers.

 

Across from her, Henry occupies himself by scribbling away at his menu-slash-coloring sheet with a crayon in either chubby little hand, so she pulls her phone from her pocket to check for work messages and sees two emails and a text calling for her attention. She opens the text first – a message from her artist, Javier, asking when he should be at the studio on Monday – and sends off a quick response before bringing up the emails.

 

The first is from her boss, Derek, mostly praising her for the few songs she'd sent him in a progress report the day before and offering a few tips for improvement. She replies with her thanks and a promise to send him the changes next week, then opens up the next email.

 

It is, rather unexpectedly, from her old boss at Residual Heat, and Beca reads over the words on the screen with some astonishment.

 

' _Hey Reggie,_

 

_Ran across this the other day while making Dax go through my hard drive. Was wondering if you ever planned to do more with it? Might have a prospective artist for you if so. Let me know._

 

_Sammy_ '

 

She scrolls to the bottom of the email to find the audio file he'd attached – the demo of 'Flashlight' that she and Emily had made back in her senior year.

 

She'd almost forgotten about it. After showing it to her boss, her intern duties had quickly shifted from just coffee-and-burrito girl to some more music-oriented tasks, and though the demo had been a topic of conversation for some weeks thereafter, it had soon fallen by the wayside as she'd been swept up in graduation and Worlds and just figuring out how to be an  _actual_  production intern. She had talked to Emily about it a few times too, but after a while it had just... slipped her mind. It shouldn't have – Beca knows she should have revisited it long before now – but at the time, it had been her step up into the industry, and though she'd been immensely proud of it, she had seen it more as a baby step in the grand scheme of things, her means of getting her talent noticed, but nothing anyone would actually let her produce for  _real_. That would have been a pipe dream.

 

Or so she'd thought.

 

But now, staring at the email attachment and rereading Sammy's words, she's reminded that for as much as 'Flashlight' had been a novice's pursuit at recognition, the fact that it  _had_  actually achieved her that recognition meant it had more realistic potential than she'd given herself and Emily credit for at the time. Therein lay another problem, though – the song isn't just hers, it's Emily's, too. If she wants to pursue this, she'll have to talk to Emily. And talking to Emily will mean opening herself back up to the rest of the Bellas, as well, because as lovely a person as she is, the Emily Beca remembers couldn't keep a secret to save her life.

 

Honestly, it's like the universe is having a laugh with her at this point.

 

Hesitation swirls through her, along with a fair amount of anxiety. But Beca has never been in the habit of turning down career opportunities. As much as everything about this terrifies her, shakes at the comforting walls behind which she has hidden for three years, she can't deny the frisson of excitement that runs through her at the idea of professionally producing the song that had been her first big break. With only slightly unsteady thumbs, Beca taps out her reply.

 

' _Hey,_

 

_Yeah, I guess I forgot about that too. I wouldn't mind producing it for real. Who did you have in mind for the artist?_

 

_I'll have to reach out to Emily Junk first, since the lyrics were hers. I'm also working on an album right now so I'll have to talk to Derek. I'll let you know._

 

_Thanks,_

 

_Beca_ '

 

* * *

 

Chloe is back home from the trip to Atlanta for a full day before she even begins to unpack her suitcase. A lot of that time is spent catching up on sleep, but some of her reluctance stems from knowing that the first thing she'll see when opens up the suitcase will be the somewhat battered napkin she'd laid on top of her clothes before zipping it closed.

 

She knows she will have to deal with it at some point, but she just wants to go on a little longer pretending she doesn't have this scary decision to make.

 

Off and on throughout the remainder of the reunion trip, Chloe had debated with herself on whether to bring up the issue with the other girls. But she had ultimately decided – and Lilly must have been willing to agree, because she'd never said anything more on the subject after that first night – that this is something she has to do (or not) by herself, at least for now. Of all the Bellas, she has always been the one closest to Beca, the one Beca had always chosen to confide in, her co-captain for three years. And, well, there's the fact that they'd slept together on two drunken occasions. (She doesn't love thinking about it that way – like a couple of booze-fueled one-night stands with someone she hardly knows, rather than a moment she'd longed for with a girl she'd been in love with for a little too long. And despite Aubrey's reassurance that Beca had probably felt the same, she finds it hard to reconcile that possibility with the distance that exists between them now.)

 

The point is, they'd been close. And even without talking to the girls, she knows they'd all agree that Chloe stood the greatest chance of dragging Beca out of her self-imposed isolation.

 

That is, if she decides to go. Chloe's still not sure if she's ready to put her heart through that.

 

So she puts off unpacking until later, after she's slept, gone for a run, showered, and eaten a breakfast so late it's really just lunch. After flicking through TV channels for half an hour before settling on an episode of  _Kids Baking Championship_  and after cleaning out her fridge and cabinets because things in there had expired and she obviously has to take care of that first. And then, once she has finally run out of excuses and things to do, she goes to her bedroom to unpack the suitcase.

 

Except she only gets as far as unzipping the lid and pulling it open, because she sees the napkin with the address there on top, and then she's grabbing it and walking somewhat unsteadily back into her living room, curling up on the sofa with her feet tucked under her and the napkin cupped in one palm. She leans toward the opposite end of the sofa to grab her laptop, sliding it onto her lap and lifting the lid as she sets the napkin on the cushion beside her.

 

Almost on autopilot, Chloe navigates to the site she uses to book her trips, bringing up a list of flights to LA. For a long moment, she just stares at it, uncertain how she'd gone from total avoidance to  _this_  so quickly. But then she's thinking, searching for any excuses she might have not to do this – other than her own fear. There aren't any, though. She's on break and she doesn't have to teach summer school, her annual visit to her parents' home in the Keys isn't for another three weeks, and though she'd been considering getting a job at the coffee shop down the road like she'd done last summer, it isn't an obligation – her parents are generous and money isn't tight at the moment. So really, she's perfectly free to do this.

 

And she  _wants_  to, she realizes. She's still afraid of what she might discover there, what she'll dredge up, but it's been so long, and Chloe realizes she's  _angry_ , too. She's tired of not knowing and she's tired of the silence, because as much as it pains her, she still cares for Beca Mitchell, maybe even still loves her to some degree, and she wants to know  _why_.

 

Chloe logs into her account on the travel site and books a flight for next Friday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think they ever gave Beca's boss at Residual Heat a name, but I've seen several fics call him Sammy for some reason and I hate coming up with names, so I just went with that. Thanks for reading!


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